


I heard you like the wild stuff

by doctorziegler



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: (brief mentions thereof), Dirty Thoughts, M/M, Masturbation, Original Character(s), Trans Male Character, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorziegler/pseuds/doctorziegler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It gets lonely at the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I heard you like the wild stuff

**Author's Note:**

> jerusalem haywood is my beautiful ginger mormon trans dad sole survivor, you can get a look at his backstory and moodboard [HERE](http://chronicpainfenris.tumblr.com/post/140640022615/jerusalem-haywood-was-born-on-april-1st-2049-to). this is just something i wrote in the middle of the night like five months ago so it isn't anything spectacular, but it's mlm ss/maxson so i figured i'd water our poor dying shipper crops. i totally gotta write a sequel to this, too... rubs hands together

“Something on your mind, soldier?”

Jerusalem hadn’t expected Maxson’s tone to strike him as so conversational, so casual–- no matter that he’d caught the man enjoying a rare moment of off-the-clock R&R, Jerusalem hadn’t ever known men of Maxson’s caliber to be capable of something as mundane as casual conversation. His husband had been much the same, once upon a time; Jerusalem knew all too well how to handle men like Maxson, men who were more comfortable on a battlefield than exchanging banter with a friend, with a lover.

Not wanting to be rude right off the bat, Jerusalem kept his distance, gaze only leaving Maxson’s intense stare to examine the skewed state of the Elder’s room over his shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep,” he explained, eyes politely returning to Maxson’s face as soon as he noticed the man’s visible bristling at the impromptu examination. “I heard your footfalls all the way over in _my_ quarters; thought you might want some company.”

Maxson exhaled, an obviously forced display of exasperation. “It’s the middle of the damn night, Paladin–-”

“ _Jerusalem_ ,” the redhead corrected, for what must have been the thousandth time since joining the Brotherhood’s ranks. “It’s the middle of the night, like you said, so I have a  _name_ , not a call sign. Besides, no matter how many times you promote me, Arthur, you know I won’t become one of your soldiers. I _can’t_.” Maxson opened his mouth to protest to the too-familiar usage of his first name, then deflated, far too exhausted–- and drunk, if his breath was any indicator–- to argue, so Jerusalem continued. “I’m not like you, or like your men, and that’s _why_ you’re so intent on keeping me on your side.”

With barely disguised intrigue, Maxson leaned on the door frame just enough to indicate reluctant admission to his room, quietly closing it behind him once Jerusalem had entered. “Care to explain _why_  your pacifism and inexperience in battle would make you a worthy asset to the Brotherhood? Since that’s what you’re accusing me of, or at least that’s what I _assume_ you just said to me.”

“It’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

Jerusalem was deliberately teasing him–- it was why he’d come here, but Maxson wasn’t the sort to be baited easily, or, maybe, he was just too stubborn to notice the lilt in Jerusalem’s voice. “The alternative, which is, what, that I’m keeping you close to keep an eye on you? Because I don’t trust you, or your intentions regarding the Commonwealth? That I’m simply using you for my own–-”

“That you enjoy my _company_ , Arthur. That you think I’m fascinating.”

The sudden deer in the headlights look that sprung onto Maxson’s face would’ve sent Jerusalem into giggling hysterics if it weren’t quite so late, and if he wasn’t quite so conscientious of rousing the slumbering soldiers scattered across the Prydwen. He was just _so_ easy to prod, this big, ridiculous boy playing at military might–- Jerusalem _knew_ war, knew it intimately, and he knew it better than, Hell, better than maybe anyone left alive in the whole damn world. He’d been _married_ to war, or at least the human avatar thereof, once upon a time; the husband he’d loved a lifetime ago had been a soldier the likes a man like Maxson could only dream of becoming. “You like that I call you _Arthur_ , and that I treat you like a person, instead of some overgrown bogeyman in a blimp,” he continued, focusing on the sound of his voice in the otherwise-silence of Maxson’s quarters to blot out the memories of his life _Before_. “You like that I don’t hang off of your every word like I think it’s sacrament. You like that I have a backbone, even though you can’t quite wrap your head around _why_. I mean, I was just a preacher, right? That’s what the records say. _No_ body special, yet–- I challenge you, and you enjoy it, and  _that's_  whatbothers you, even more so than my stubbornness does.”

Maxson’s heckles rose–- and promptly fell–- as Jerusalem spoke, and the elder of the two couldn’t help but question _himself_ , now, wondering why, exactly, he’d decided to come here tonight. To egg Maxson on, clearly, but to what end, and why now? Why _here_ , with no one else around to bear witness? In Maxson’s bedroom, in the middle of the night, like some illicit meeting between lovers-– “… Are you done?” Jerusalem’s brow raised, surprised to see Maxson’s fingers encircling the neck of a half-emptied bottle atop his desk, as if he could no longer bring himself to care that Jerusalem was present to see him partaking in his destructive habit. “Because even if I _do_ enjoy you–- your _company_ , I mean, of course, excuse me–- it’s late, and I’m about a bottle and a half too far gone to effectively trade verbal blows with you.”

As soon as he’d finished raising the bottle to his lips and taking a stiff drink, Maxson closed the distance between he and Jerusalem, and Jerusalem was shocked at the sudden closeness. Out of reflex, Jerusalem took a step backward, his shoulder hitting the closed door as Maxson stared down at him; the fact that he was a boy be damned, Maxson was _huge_ , and intimidating, even at the best of times, and, at the moment, he reeked of cheap alcohol. Jerusalem wasn’t afraid of him, though, and this overwhelming proximity dragged those _other_ feelings right to the fucking surface, the very feelings he’d come here to poke at, hadn’t he-– _masochism_ , that’s what it was, in a way, exposing himself to this boy that was so very much like the man he’d married, the soldier who’d died in his sleep, in a Vault, at the end of the world.

He _wanted_ Maxson, wanted him despite their blatant differences, despite the wedding band he refused to ever remove; he wanted _this_ , wanted to be trapped between a warm body and a hard place, liquor-laced breath against his face and bruising hands on his hips, a thick thigh pressed between his legs, chest hair against his back–- “–-the _way_ , Jerusalem.”

Jerusalem snapped back to the present, heart pounding so loudly he was certain Maxson would hear it. “… Sorry?”

“You’re in the way. You know, of the _door_. Because I’m politely asking you to leave my room.”

“Oh. Right.” He wondered how long that moment had lasted, when he’d lost himself in the sheer idea of Maxson’s arms, the desperate longing for something he’d never _quite_ ever have again, the desire for a single something _good_ in all of this desolation. He swallowed a little too loudly, turning to leave. “… Assuming you don’t give yourself too serious of a hangover, can I hope for a proper exchange of verbal blows with you in the morning?”

Maxson laughed, though the sound was more like a snort, and Jerusalem hated that he thought of it as _cute_. “You can expect a verbal _lashing_ tomorrow, Paladin, _assuming_ I can still remember the kind of insubordinate shit that came out of your mouth tonight by then.”

Jerusalem was rudely shoved outside the Elder’s room, and before he’d even gotten a chance to bid the man goodnight, Maxson had closed it, erecting the metaphorical wall between them once more.

It wasn’t until a half hour later, when he was face-first in his own bed, hips raised and hands splayed between cum-slicked thighs that Jerusalem realized Maxson had _actually_ used his name, hadn’t he, though it’d been just the once, and just to encourage him to leave.

… _Huh_.

[FIN]


End file.
